


i hope my heart goes first

by primrosee



Category: South Park
Genre: Alcoholism, Blood, F/M, Injury, M/M, Mentioned Abuse, Unrequited Love, Vomiting, almost a character study tbh?, but if i missed any don't be afraid to tell me, butters being friends with everyone is my aesthetic, i think i got them all?, rated M because of lots of drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-07-01 01:46:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15764082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/primrosee/pseuds/primrosee
Summary: and you feel terrified at the thought of being left behindof losing everybody, the necessity of dyingoh we kid ourselves there's future in the fuckingbut there is no fucking futurei'm just practicing my accents, picking at old suturesA broken heart may be the greatest pain of all.





	i hope my heart goes first

**Author's Note:**

> hey what's up i haven't written a fanfic in like a year  
> so take this. sorry if it's absolute shit, like i said it's been a while  
> umMMMMM i might continue this, but idk yet?
> 
> lyrics + title from the song 'we are beautiful, we are doomed' by los campesinos! which is like the kyman anthem

Kyle downs his sixth beer of the night and crushes the can in his hand.

Unfortunately, he overlooks the fact that the can is made of weak metal that splinters and breaks at the slightest touch, and it cuts through his hand. He starts bleeding profusely and with a colorful string of swear words, he tosses the can somewhere out of sight and books it to the bathroom. Unsurprisingly, he gets followed by Butters, who simply can’t help himself from worrying about everyone like an overbearing mother of triplets, or something like that. He’s too drunk to make up a better metaphor. He runs the cold water over his hand and grinds his teeth so he doesn’t scream about how much it burns, and Butters goes, “What’s wrong, Kyle?” even though he most certainly knows what’s wrong.

“You know what’s wrong,” He responds, trying his best to not sound like he’s being snappy because he knows if he upsets Butters he’ll be upsetting Kenny by extension, and even if Butters is too nice to kick his teeth in Kenny would gladly do it. Kyle watches in the bathroom mirror as Butters nods his head very slowly, a silent agreement that he does indeed know what’s wrong but that he’ll let Kyle vent anyway, a soundless offer Kyle takes up with no hesitation. “It’s Cartman and Heidi. They’ve been dating since grade school and she treats him like shit and I’m getting really tired of it. I wish he’d just break up with her already but  _ apparently  _ that’s not something in the cards and they’re going to get married and have five kids and live in a house with a white picket fence and the kids will ask, ‘Mommy, why do you hit daddy?’ and the answer will always be, ‘Because daddy is an asshole!’ or something dumb like that.”

Kyle decides taking a deep breath is in order, which he does. His hand is still bleeding pretty badly and the cut stings. It might be deep enough that he needs stitches, but even if he does he won’t be getting them. “I think they’re over that stage,” Butters says softly, treading into the bathroom and taking Kyle’s hand in his own. It’d be an intimate action if Kyle didn’t know how Butters worked by now. He reaches for a paper towel and wraps it securely around Kyle’s wound, pulling a hair tie out of his back pocket and winding it around the paper towel as a makeshift bandage. “Heidi hasn’t been like that since sixth grade, remember? I mean, she sure was mean to him before, but she’s a lot nicer now.”

Kyle knows that. Butters knows that Kyle knows that, too. But since Butters is such a wonderful person, he’d rather kindly explain something than smack Kyle upside the head and say, “You’re being a goddamned idiot,” which reiterates Kenny’s constant statement that Butters is simply too good for South Park. He hopes that some day they’ll be able to move away to a place that suits Butters a lot better, somewhere that isn’t a complete shithole packed full of assholes. “I know,” Kyle sighs, because he has nothing else to say.

Butters’ face softens more, if that’s even possible. Kyle nearly has to crane his neck to look down at him, his 6’0 gigantic in comparison to Butters’ 5’0. He never did hit that growth spurt that his mother always assured he would. “It’ll be okay, Kyle,” Butters reassures with a huge smile, patting the shoulder on Kyle’s uninjured side. From any other guy, Kyle would’ve taken it as a false reassurance, a way to make fun of him and wordlessly say, “you’re being a pussy, Kyle”, but with Butters he knows it’s sincere. “You’ll find someone else. There are plenty of fish in the sea!”

The saying shouldn’t be funny, but Kyle laughs anyway. Maybe it was the way Butters said it, or the fact that no matter how many fish are in the sea, Kyle only likes one. Where most people would’ve backpedaled and probably told Kyle to go fuck himself, Butters only gives a half-smile in return. He really is an angel. Kyle wonders how an absolute hellspawn like Kenny managed to land such a sweetheart as his boyfriend. Butters must see something in Kenny that literally the rest of South Park can’t see. In a way, it’s sweet. “Yeah,” he says weakly, the only response he can manage to give.

With a hug and a back pat, Butters is gone from the bathroom and Kyle is standing there by himself with his hand bleeding despite the layers of paper towel and the Hello Kitty ponytail holder wrapped around it. He heaves a sigh and leaves the bathroom, pushing his way through the crowds of drunk teenagers and making his way back to the drink table. Of course, given his absolutely shit luck, Cartman and Heidi are now at the table. Kyle keeps his head down and grabs another can of beer, even though he can feel Heidi’s eyes burning a hole through him. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” he mumbles angrily, trying to make sure that Heidi doesn’t hear it because he certainly doesn’t need Cartman on his ass. Kyle may be tall, but he’s still thin and wiry, and his 6 foot of pure skin and bones has nothing on Cartman’s 6’6 of pure muscle (transferred from his baby fat and years of playing football. he’s the quarterback. kyle quietly wonders if heidi likes being able to say she’s dating the quarterback).

“Hi, Kyle!” Heidi says, fake-cheerfully, and he has no choice but to look up at her. Even she’s taller than Butters, standing at a solid 5’7. She could probably kick his ass, but what more could he expect from Cartman’s girlfriend? “How are you?”

He wants to be passive aggressive, like her, but he simply doesn’t have the will or want to be. “Fine, I guess,” he responds, holding his hand up. “I cut myself on a beer can.”

“Guess that’s what happens when you’re an alcoholic,” Heidi says, that dumb smile still planted on her face. God, Kyle wishes he had the actual strength of character to punch a girl and not have the principals ingrained in him that punching girls isn’t cool, but he has neither. “Have you tried going to any AA meetings?”

Kyle snorts into the can of his nearly-gone seventh beer. “It wouldn’t be very anonymous in this town,” is his response, and it really wouldn’t. Stan has already been going to AA meetings with his dad since eighth grade, and Kyle would really prefer he not have to sit next to his best friend and his best friend’s dad and discuss his, ‘relationship with alcohol’.

“I suppose you’re right,” Heidi gives back, all high and mighty. He wants to punch her square in her prissy little face. He wants to punch her so hard that her makeup flies right off of her stupid fucking face. But he won’t, and not for her sake, not because of his principals and morals—because he doesn’t want Cartman to be mad at him. Maybe that’s sad. Maybe it would be sadder if Kyle actually cared. “Well, take care. Come on, Eric.”

She tugs his arm and he follows behind her like a dog follows after their fucking master, and Kyle feels like he’s going to be sick. Thankfully before he throws up all over the floor, there’s a bucket being shoved into his hands and he manages to get every last drop of his dinner—a hamburger and fries—into the bucket. Standing in front of him is none other than Leopold Butters Stotch, smiling hugely and genuinely. Kenny is standing behind him, arms around his waist. Like Kyle, he’s tall (6’4, respectively) and bony. He still looks like he hasn’t had a meal in fifteen years, even though Kyle knows Butters cooks him dinner and packs lunch for him to take to his job at the auto shop routinely.

“Thank you.” Kyle says the best he can around his drunkenness and his head in a bucket.

“No problem!” Butters responds, cheerfully. “I thought you might need a bucket. I got to you just in time. You really dodged a bullet there, huh?”

Kyle nods, keeping his head over the bucket. He feels ready to toss his cookies yet again, but he isn’t so sure there’s anything left in his stomach. He figures it’s best to keep his head over the bucket, anyway. “Yeah. Do you have some kind of sixth sense where you can tell when people need help, or what?”

Butters laughs. “Guess so!”

Against his will and previous assumptions, Kyle manages to throw up again. “Why don’t you let me help you find a place to lay down?” Butters suggests. Kyle nods, holding the bucket to his chest and keeping his head over it while Butters leads him to the staircase. Whose house are they at, again?

“Hey Eric, Kyle is pretty sick,” Kyle hears Butters say, and he remembers: they’re at Cartman’s house. Of course they are. “Do you think I could take him to lay down in your room?”

Kyle doesn’t hear Cartman say a word, but Butters tugs his arm softly and tells him to follow him, so he figures the answer must have been yes. There are two sets of footsteps on the stairs, so Kyle figures Kenny is following too. No surprise there. Kyle is lead into someone’s room and he figures that it’s Cartman’s because he trips over a stupid frog toy and a Nerf football. Butters helps him lay down, taking the bucket from him with no qualms despite it being half-way full of puke and sets it down on the floor by the bed. Butters pulls a blanket over him. It smells like flowers. “Get some rest, Kyle,” Butters urges softly, patting his head.

“You’re so sweet, babe,” he hears Kenny say, and then Kyle gets to see them kiss.

“I’m going to be sick,” he says.

“You already are.” Kenny responds.

“Right you are there,” Kyle says, hiccuping and leaning over the bed to throw up again. He settles back against the numerous pillows behind his head and shuts his eyes. He hears Butters and Kenny leave the room, and with a heavy sigh, he opens his eyes and looks up at the ceiling. Some of those glow-in-the-dark stars are stuck to it. On the wall across from him, there’s a framed picture of Cartman and Heidi, and with a groan Kyle throws his head back. He can’t escape them even when he’s blackout drunk, can he?

With another heavy sigh, Kyle passes out.

**Author's Note:**

> yeets!!! thank you for reading and if you actually made it to the end of this fic then,,,congrats??? idk it's garbage im SORRY
> 
> deviantart - https://www.deviantart.com/caryophyllaceae  
> tumblr - https://bigmamalesbian.tumblr.com/


End file.
